


Apotheosis

by utsu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsu/pseuds/utsu
Summary: Viktor doesn’t take his eyes from him, hands gripping the edge of the boards until his knuckles turn white. Yuuri takes position at the center of the ice, of the world, of Viktor’s very core, and the lights of the arena bathe him in an ethereal glow that’s nearly blinding, and Viktor remembers the touch of gold metal against his lips.And he doesn’t dare to look away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is in response to this [ask/prompt. ](http://utsus.tumblr.com/post/153052588214/for-your-consideration-ever-since-the-tongue)

Viktor has always liked surprises.

It might have been something borne of his being a genius—the ease with which he mastered the things he loved often leading them to grow boring in his eyes. It was more than having to find new ways to leave people breathless with what he could do with his body.

It was having to _create_ new ways to leave _himself_ feeling breathless.

And he had been doing this for years, choreographing his own routines for the simple fact of pushing them further and further past incredible, as was expected of him. As he expected of himself. Viktor was not the kind of person to let idle intrigues lie; he wanted to pursue them, to flesh them out and understand and _know_ them until they bent to his will in the same way the world has since learned to.

This, he thinks, is a genius’ privilege.

And it can become so unerringly _tedious_. There’s only so much that he can do for himself before he loses interest in it. The world stopped showing genuine interest in his skating and focused entirely on his persona, and eventually he began to find it droll. He’d moved forward despite it, however, throwing bigger twists, more jumps, more incredible and intimate and inspiring aspects into his routines until he realized what was lacking wasn’t only the world.

It was then that he realized that even skating could let him down.

There was a brief period of frustration he doesn’t like to admit to, where he struggled to find meaning in life outside of skating, since it had nearly abandoned him. The world loved and adored him, thought his every movement and smile was enough to fuel the sun that welcomed their every morning, but he expected _more_. Skating had become more of an exertional source of invigoration, rather than one of passion and joy and _love_. He remembers the ice feeling colder than ever before when he stooped low to pick up one last bouquet of flowers, his fingertips numb.

He wondered then, even as gold metal touched his lips, when again he would rediscover his passion for skating—for living.

As it turns out, passion found him in the unlikeliest of places: a young man tracing his exact steps, with a body that transcended the music of Viktor’s own routine and made it belong to _him_.

Surprises.

Viktor remembers the rumors, and he remembers how late they were in reaching his ears. He spends a lot of his time on social media—it would have been even more surprising for the rumors to have introduced him to the wonder of _Katsuki Yuuri_ before he found Yuuri himself.

Breathlessness. That is what Viktor remembers most about the first time he watched Yuuri skate his routine, the way he made the music bend and twist to his every movement. His form was unlike any professional skater Viktor had ever seen, on the heavier side, and yet Viktor had never seen a single skater shift the music of a routine with the simple intimacy of his movements before, either. He was beautiful, in a way that gripped Viktor steadily.

Viktor had a nagging thought, then, just an inkling of suspected hope that Katsuki Yuuri was going to be the first of many surprises that Viktor would covet.

And he _would_ covet him; his body, his skating, his _passion_.

Viktor was going to have it all.

He read the caption under the video, the explanation of Yuuri’s lifelong admiration for his untouchable idol, Viktor Nikiforov.

He wondered if Yuuri liked surprises, too.

 

✧

 

“Don’t ever take your eyes off me.”

Viktor’s pulse thunders in his throat and he doesn’t blink for a second, unwilling to miss a second of Yuuri’s unexpected intensity. He stares into the deep amber of Yuuri’s eyes and thinks of molten heat, slowly shifting, and he lets the words boom through him in waves.

_Don’t ever take your eyes off me._

When Yuuri backs away, he lets his fingers drag off of Viktor’s knuckles and then the very tips of his fingers, a seductive and purposefully intimate slide as he heads to center ice. Viktor reaches up to touch the lasting heat on his forehead, where Yuuri had gotten so, _so_ close.

Breath pools back into him and he’s surprised to find himself trembling.

He watches Yuuri come to a stop, arms lifting, and the music begins to resonate throughout the arena. It’s in this moment that Viktor always finds himself breathless: when the music begins, something pre-made and orchestrated, seemingly unalterable.

Viktor’s eyes gleam, and he watches as the music touches Yuuri’s skin, beloved.

And the music _changes_.

And it’s not the fact of the music changing that surprises Viktor, but the turn it takes—unknowable until Yuuri _moves_ , only transcribed through the intimacy of how deeply he _feels_ it moving through him.

It curls around Yuuri so tenderly, so outright lovingly, and Viktor’s heart is a bastion booming in the cage of his chest. Viktor starts to hone in on the routine, trying to look through a coach’s eyes rather than a lover’s, because he knows how important this is to Yuuri. He can’t separate the two entirely, because he is so easily captivated by Yuuri’s every movement, but he _tries_. He has high standards for himself, and he expects himself to reach them.

In this, he will focus on the technique and performance and not on the way that Yuuri makes love to the music that wraps around him, and around them all. Viktor knows every movement as well as Yuuri does, and he expects them, waits for them, ignores that sparking tingle on his nape that always arises around Yuuri—the one that Viktor gets when he thinks there’s an opportunity for him to be surprised, or impressed. He ignores it, and expects nothing of the sort.

And then Yuuri turns to him directly, just as Viktor had known he would, there’s no revelation there even as Viktor’s heart rattles and rallies, and he can’t help but to wonder for a flicker of a moment what Yuuri is _thinking_ , but then—

Then Yuuri’s tongue slips out and laves over his lips, with such blatant _purpose,_ his eyes on _Viktor_ , and the spark of surprise over Viktor’s nape expands and zaps down his spine in a fiery trail of surprise, and appreciation.

Such honest, _heavy_ appreciation.

Viktor straightens and his mouth goes dry, and every inkling of focus that he’d held for Yuuri’s routine struggles to rise to the surface, to undermine the heat and the sudden arousal. It takes him several long moments of merely staring at Yuuri’s body, the depth of feeling in his expression, before he’s able to force himself to focus on the _routine_ underneath all of Yuuri’s emotion and movement.

Excitement curls through him, and it’s more than just joy—it’s _anticipation_. That Yuuri can so easily yank him around, his every word and gesture expected but tinged in something more, something that Viktor had not expected, is _invigorating_. He moves with such purpose, his skates slicing over the ice, his every jump made with rebellious resolve, and Viktor has to laugh. He understands rebellion.

He understands purpose.

And it’s there, as a genius known to all the world, that Viktor stands in the shadowed sidelines as Yuuri captures the hearts and attention of every patron in the arena, a newborn phoenix bathed in light of his own creation.

And Viktor licks his lips, too.

 

✧

 

“I can’t wait to have a pork cutlet bowl,” Yuuri grumbles under his breath, low and sullen. Viktor glances over to him with a pursed smile, his eyes heavy with charmed amusement. He reaches out easily and lets his hand settle over the nape of Yuuri’s neck, feeling the warmth there. Yuuri flinches, and because Viktor knows it’s from surprise and self-consciousness, Viktor smiles. He massages lightly as they continue towards a little vendor on the side of the street, seeking a small dinner just for the two of them.

Viktor still has his hand on Yuuri’s nape when he sits down, and only pulls back when he has to take his seat in front of him. He lets his fingertips drag over skin, though, pushing through the baby hairs just over Yuuri’s nape until he can literally see Yuuri shiver. Viktor smiles again, content, and ignores the flustered and slightly reprimanding shift of Yuuri’s expression.

This, another surprise up Yuuri’s sleeves, Viktor finds adorable. That he can be such a monster of passion and confidence on the ice, turning to find Viktor through the masses and licking his lips so _deliberately_ , in front of the entire world—but the moment he steps off the ice, self-consciousness curls back around him almost defensively. He bows his head to read the menu, and Viktor watches him with hooded eyes. The Yuuri he knows on the ice would never hold such a posture, but something about the differences here, the confidence clashing with this tender uncertainty, has Viktor’s blood rushing.

 _Invigorating_ ; he reaches across the table and grasps Yuuri’s wrist, smiling casually when Yuuri swallows but looks up to meet his eyes instead of squeaking and retreating—progress.

“You did well today,” he says, and then with a brighter smile, “Maybe _tomorrow_ you’ll get that quad salchow!”

Yuuri ducks his head and Viktor’s grin spreads wider at the sudden flush of Yuuri’s tanned cheeks. He laughs heartily, uncaring of the stares it draws, and presses his fingers a little possessively over the pulse he can feel in Yuuri’s wrist before he pulls away.

“Well!” He continues on, “What should we get?”

Viktor orders something messy that they have to eat mostly with their hands, because he has ulterior motives. He watches Yuuri reach for a piece of meat and stare at it, wondering how best to eat it with the smallest possibility of making a mess. Viktor watches him lift it to his mouth and chew, and come away with sauce smeared over his upper lip. He pretends like that smudge over the soft curve of Yuuri’s lips isn’t the sole object of his attention as he continues to tell Yuuri a story about his competitor, Chris.

The words are meaningless chatter and Viktor watches as Yuuri, listening intently and completely, blithely unaware of Viktor’s true attention and purpose, parts his lips. His tongue delves out to swipe carelessly at the sauce, and Viktor finds himself breathing just that much heavier.

It’s…unexpected, how such a tiny gesture seems to have so completely ensnared him.

But it’s more than just the act of Yuuri licking his lips, but the fact that its _Yuuri_.

 _His_ Yuuri, who is passionate and self-conscious and stubborn and beautiful and so breathtakingly _determined._

And so completely unaware of his effect on Viktor, apparently. He continues to listen to Viktor even as his words start to fade, watching the delicate pink of Yuuri’s tongue touch the corner of his lips. It’s a simple touch, more exploratory and of habit than anything else, but Viktor finds himself shifting in his seat.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says suddenly, breaking away from his story enough to recapture Yuuri’s complete attention. He waits for Yuuri’s eyes to rise and meet his, and then he smiles. “I’ve told you before, how I love the way you change the music.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flare, and he reaches up embarrassedly to adjust his glasses without looking away from Viktor. As the silence between them grows, Yuuri finally admits, “Yeah, I remember.”

Viktor’s smile is a brightened reward. “Yes,” he says, “I love it very much.”

Yuuri looks equal parts distressed and joyful, a pinched uncertainty of emotions over his expression. His muffled, “I’m glad,” is almost breathless.

“I wondered,” Viktor continued, relishing in the way that Yuuri responds so strongly to every one of his words and gestures. Even his pointed silence, guiding Yuuri towards responding, is a measure of control that Yuuri responds to aptly. Viktor’s chest feels heavy. “How would you explain it?”

“Explain it?” Yuuri asked, brows furrowed. “The music?”

Viktor’s eyes grow heavy, and he glances down to his food for only a moment before pointedly glancing up through his eyelashes, catching Yuuri perfectly off-guard.

“The music,” Viktor agrees, voice thrown low. “And how it responds so beautifully to you.”

Yuuri sits upright quite suddenly, shocked and abashed. He lifts a hand to rub embarrassedly at the nape of his neck, glancing around the vendor as if somewhere in the striped cloth hanging over their heads he might find the answer. Viktor waits patiently and barely blinks, ever watchful.

And he is duly rewarded, as Yuuri’s tongue comes out to lave over his lower lip, a single delicate swipe before his eyes leap back to Viktor’s.

Even as he expects it, the depth of his reaction and the emotions that arise because of it continues to surprise him. Viktor shifts in his seat again and Yuuri offers him a crooked smile, laugh lines appearing beside his eyes.

“I don’t actually know,” he says, ever genuine. “I just try to let go of everything that’s weighing me down, and when I hear the music, it’s…comforting. It’s like I’m coming to life.”

Viktor blinks slowly, heavily, his smile twisting up at the corners. He brings a piece of meat up to his lips and takes a bite, savoring the flavor, and the emotion behind Yuuri’s words. After swallowing and deciding against his napkin, he waits for Yuuri to catch his gaze again.

He times it perfectly and watches as Yuuri’s gaze grows unconsciously heavier as he watches Viktor’s tongue come out to catch the sauce smudged on the corner of his mouth. He makes more of it than he needs to, as he is like to, and savors the way Yuuri’s lips part around sudden breathlessness.

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Viktor says, and he settles his napkin over his nearly-empty plate. Yuuri blinks up at him, and Viktor smiles as innocently as he dares. It’s the attempt at innocence, however, that puts Yuuri back on his guard. Viktor nearly laughs; he should’ve known.

Viktor sets much more money on the table than is expressly required and rises to his feet, with Yuuri following suit just a moment later.

He moves around their table as Yuuri shucks on his coat, and slides his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders when he’s comfortable. He pulls him into his side, fingers squeezing once, and starts walking them back home.

“I’m sure the world can’t wait to see you come to life again, Yuuri. I can understand their impatience,” Viktor says, and he moves in so close his lips touch the delicate skin of Yuuri’s flushed ear. “I’m having a hard time waiting, too.”

 

✧

 

Viktor is usually the one who fills the space with idle chatter.

That is, until he realizes that Yuuri has a habit of licking the corners of his lips when he’s thinking hard about something, and Viktor _craves_ it. He craves a lot more than simply seeing it—he recognizes in himself the impatience of his emotions, his desires. He wants nearly desperately to lick Yuuri’s lips, to suck them into redness, to leave Yuuri breathless with his lips and his touch. He wants to make Yuuri into ruins, by touch, and taste, and wonder.

But Viktor also appreciates the slow burn of their growing relationship, and the slow reveal of every new twist between them. He _likes_ the waiting, even as it frustrates him.

So he takes it one day at a time, and continues to be as playful with Yuuri as he wants. It doesn’t hurt that he knows Yuuri likes it, even as he grumbles and blushes and groans.

This fixation on Yuuri’s tongue is just another small playful and trying twist in their relationship, and Viktor starts coming up with more and more ways to draw the reaction from his student every day.

“Do you understand what makes Yurio such an astute skater?” Viktor asks him one day, skating lazy circles around Yuuri as he stays still at center ice. Viktor comes to an elegant stop in front of him, his body liquid in responding to every movement of his skates. He watches the way Yuuri’s eyes trail up and over his body, slowly, heavily, before meeting his eyes.

Viktor lifts his chin and shivers.

Viktor isn’t interested in the answer—he knows exactly the reason, and he knows what Yuuri will probably think of it. But he also knows that Yuuri will really give it attention, will pause and think it through and—

Viktor’s eyes catch on the way Yuuri glances up into the rafters with furrowed brows, as if they’ll have the answer he seeks, and he licks his upper lip with that same idle concentration.

Viktor tilts his head even as his expression goes soft and content, his eyes still effortlessly sharp, honed in on the newfound wetness of Yuuri’s upper lip. The urge to skate to him, to bring him into the warmth of Viktor’s body by holding onto his hips as he bends down and tastes that wetness on his lips is nearly Viktor’s _undoing_.

He holds himself steady and touches the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

He is a statute of self-imposed control, gradually unwinding, and Yuuri is still looking to the rafters for answers. His guileless innocence does nothing to stay Viktor’s interest, but rather enraptures him even further. He wonders for a moment, as Yuuri finally answers him with something vaguely correct, what kinds of breathless noises Yuuri would make if Viktor was allowed to touch him in every way he so desperately wants.

And this is novel, too, he realizes suddenly.

For Viktor to be desperate for anything.

For anyone.

 

✧

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri asks, tone fading off with uncertainty. Viktor turns to him questioningly, eyebrows lifted, blinking. He reaches to him without hesitation and brushes off Yuuri’s shoulders, not because there had been anything to mar the immaculate cut of his uniform, but as a simple excuse, just to touch him.

Yuuri turns away from him, and Viktor narrows his eyes. He has long since grown used to Yuuri’s self-consciousness, something inherent to his character, and it has taught him that in just the same way that Yuuri has saved Viktor, he must save Yuuri. Time and time again, the world prompts them to simply need each other.

Yuuri had fast been growing more confident in himself, even going so far as to silently decide that he would take Viktor for himself, away from the entire world. It amused Viktor that he had thought Viktor clueless to this, as if painting every performance in every shade of wanting aimed solely and purposefully at _Viktor_ could mean anything _less_.

Yuuri’s confidence being borne of a delicious possessive intent that belonged solely to Viktor shook Viktor to his very core. It was largely that confidence that drew him so rapturously to Yuuri’s every performance, each one feeling more and more like a private affair between the two of them, televised to the entire world.

Yuuri says, “I don’t know if I can be as good as you think I can be,” and his uncertainty breaks Viktor’s heart. He stands taller and Yuuri reflects his posture without even thinking, eyes bright and startled into reciprocation. This makes Viktor smile, an easy thing, and he reaches out to trace the edge of Yuuri’s rounded jaw.

“If you can seduce me,” he begins, and the words are as familiar to Yuuri as they are on Viktor’s tongue. He brings his hands to Yuuri’s shoulders, gently squeezing. “You can seduce the world. You want them to feel good watching you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, lowly at first, glancing to his skates. Viktor gives him a warming moment to rebuild himself in Viktor’s arms, watching with bated breath as the Yuuri that looks back up into his eyes transforms into a model of slow-growing confidence, solid and _sure_. He repeats the word, the promise, and its corded in steel: “ _Yes_.”

And Viktor has never denounced his own possessiveness over Yuuri, not once, not ever. He has never backed down from the sharp and resolute hold that Yuuri has had on him, or vice versa. There is nothing in the world that could hold Viktor as Yuuri does, and—

And Viktor won’t let the world hold Yuuri in the same way that he does. They can have the reflection of Yuuri’s performance, a shadow of the feeling that’s directed so intentionally at Viktor on the sidelines, and that will have to suffice.

That is, until Yuuri outshines Viktor’s own expectations. And Viktor has no doubt that he _will_. Yuuri has always been an endless pool of surprises, of novel feelings and intentions borne in Viktor, and he would be a fool to assert a hold on Yuuri that Yuuri himself could not overcome.

One day, the world and Viktor both might be equally enraptured by Katsuki Yuuri, and at that time, Viktor thinks that Yuuri will be the one to choose who better to sustain him.

But for now, in the opening acts of Yuuri’s splendor, it is _Viktor_ who has power over the world. And there has never been anyone who held him so enraptured as Yuuri does, and he refuses to relinquish that novelty. So he allows himself to be selfish, to possess, and he watches the way that barbed acceptance alights in Yuuri’s eyes; confidence borne of belonging, and a promise of reciprocation that makes Viktor _shake_.

“Then make me feel good,” Viktor whispers, and Yuuri barely breathes before pushing up onto the tips of his skates, hands perched on the top of the boards, and he steals the first taste of Viktor’s lips.

Cameras flash and the crowds begin to turn their way as Yuuri nips lightly at the bow of Viktor’s upper lip, playful and dominant and its _Viktor_ that is flushed and surprised, breathless and wanting. He watches Yuuri gaze openly at him, that breathtaking confidence shining through gleaming amber eyes, and Viktor wonders how he had ever, _ever_ thought that he was the one with power in this relationship.

“Watch me,” Yuuri breathes, and he begins to move away from Viktor, to the center of the ice where spotlights and millions of eyes wait breathlessly for _him_. He doesn’t take his eyes from Viktor, says only, “Don’t you dare look away.”

And then he licks his lips, _purposely_ , and if Viktor wasn’t so shaken, if he wasn’t still struggling to breathe, he would’ve laughed. Because of course Yuuri knows, of course he does.

Viktor doesn’t take his eyes from him, hands gripping the edge of the boards until his knuckles turn white. Yuuri takes position at the center of the ice, of the world, of Viktor’s very core, and the lights of the arena bathe him in an ethereal glow that’s nearly blinding, and Viktor remembers the touch of gold metal against his lips.

And he doesn’t dare to look away.


End file.
